The Russian Quartett
by Ellster
Summary: Following up on Seattle, Luther and Ethan go to Russia, but only Luther returns. (Rated T for violence)
1. Chapter 1

Note: This story was written as a continuous text, but I didn't want to submit you to over 17000 words of continuous text. This means length of the chapters might be a bit weird.

Thanks also to my amazing beta-reader. One of the characters was created by her, I'm using it with her permission.

* * *

 **The Russian Quartett**

 **Chapter 1**

The packing station was a large hall, divided only by the desks where the workers were packing parcels. At one of those desks, Sergey sat, staring blankly into the air, while his fingers did the work. As usual his mind was elsewhere, until he realized that someone was talking to him.

"Sergey!"

Rodya called him for the third time, when he finally looked up. The voice of his boss was concerned rather than angry. "Sergey, is everything alright?"

"Da, da," Sergey replied halfheartedly and to redirect his focus back to his work. But as soon as his boss walked away, his mind started drifting again. Yes, everything was alright for Sergey Ivanov. He had a work that payed his food and his flat, a good boss and a – reasonably – honest job, more than he could have wished for. That was him, as he was now, but he had not always been like this. And lately his thoughts tended to wander back to another life. And another job. He knew he should keep the two apart, especially after Andrey had once surprised him in his flat and caught a glimpse of his other side.

Sergey had nearly punched a few teeth out of his mouth. Gladly the threat of doing so had sufficed to shut him up, at least around the others. And he doubted he had seen enough to get a good idea of his second occupation, but ever since, the younger man worshiped him like some kind of secret super hero.

"Sergey!"

With a start Sergey's thoughts returned to his work-place. He cursed silently, his hand was tangled up in a knot of packaging tape. Pulling his fingers out of the sticky mess, he looked around for Rodya, who had called him from the other side of the hall. "Sergey! Come over here, and meet Mr. Kostas!"

Sergey slammed the ball of tape on his fingers onto his work-table, where it stuck. Then he carefully made his way through the narrow passages between the rows of workbenches, until he reached Ivan and his guest on the other side of the room. He could already hear Rodya praising him from far away: "Sergey is a very fine man. A good worker, and one of my specialists for difficult deliveries. Maybe even the best."

Mr. Kostas looked rather bored, but nodded out of courtesy. Rodya didn't even notice.

"Sergey, this is Mr. Kostas, a new customer," he introduced the other man. "One of our special customers, you understand."

Sergey just nodded. He was used to his employer's not-so-legal ways of helping along his income, and didn't care. How Rodya ran his company was none of his business, although this time a bad feeling rose in the pit of his stomach. Still he forced himself to smile and offered Kostas a hand, which the Greek decided to ignore.

"So he is the best," Kostas sneered down on him, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He showed a hollow smile out of a floppy face, set on a body that was as wide in every direction as it was tall. Sergey was glad he had not shaken his hand that likely was as grimy as everything else on this man.

"Oh yes," Rodya said with the same enthusiasm. "He can be quite creative, you will see. And he is completely reliable."

There seemed to be the slightest spark of interest in Kostas' eyes. Not taking his eyes off Sergey, he took out a cigarette and lit it. Despite the usually strict no-smoking-policy in the packing station, Rodya let him prevail. "How good is he, really?" the Greek asked, still looking at Sergey, but talking over his head as if he was some an animal. Sergey didn't like that, and took the chance to reply himself. "That depends on what you want to ship, and where."

"I have many goods to deliver," Kostas answered and took a long draw from his cigarette. "To many different places." This time it was not clear who he was talking to. They kept staring at each other, until Rodya got uneasy and led his new business-partner away. "Come. I will show you the rest of my company," the boss said and signaled Sergey to return to his work.

Somewhat uneasy, Sergey went back to his place. He couldn't help feeling that this time Rodya was in over his head. This Kostas was not like one of the small criminals they were usually smuggling for. He was first-class scum, dangerous and potentially lethal. And something in his gut told Sergey that they had met before. In another place. In another life.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

In an average office cubicle, inside an average office building in D.C., Benjamin Dunn sat in front of a not so average computer screen, scrolling through endless lines of top-secret data. Half a year ago above everything else he had wanted to just get back into the field, but right now he was rather content with his office spot. Usually he was mostly bored by the work any computer analyst could do, but today he simply wasn't in the mood for anything. Not even the collection of PC games in his desk drawer could cheer him up. Blankly he stared at the rows of numbers and letters in front of him.

It was the date. He had tried not to think of it, push it out of his mind, where it could stay as far as he was concerned. He had tried to forget it, like the birthday of his aunt Lucy. He had tried to think forward to something pleasant, like counting the days to the next weekend. But it hadn't worked. The instance his eyes had habitually glanced at his calendar in the morning, the date had jumped at him like an angry cat.

It had been four months now. Back then, he had refused to believe it, and even now a part of him still wanted to hope, no matter how unfunded that hope was. But from now on he would have to accept the painful truth, at least officially.

Angry with himself he tried to shake off the thought, push it away and concentrate on his work, but he couldn't focus. The numbers and letters started to swim in front of his eyes and he caught himself starting at the top of the page again. Benji didn't know how many times he had read that particular line of code already, but it just wouldn't stick in his mind. He felt incredibly tired, thanks to sleeping bad the previous night, even by his lowest standards, and he thought he might have been less exhausted if he hadn't slept at all.

With a sigh the techie decided to quit working for now. He was well within his monthly schedule and today he just couldn't be productive. He started to close down what he had been working on and was about to shut down the computer completely, when a small window popped up in the lower right corner of his screen with a friendly ping.

The soft sound startled Benji. He had set up several alerts four months ago, and in the beginning he had been buried in notifications. Like the others, he had worked day and night that first week, neglecting other duties. But all searches had been fruitless and while all their leads had ended in a dead end, his automated notifications had slowly died down. This was the first one he got in over a week.

Considering how exhausted he was, Benji tried to convince himself that this could wait a day and he should get back to it tomorrow. But he knew that to him it couldn't, and, suddenly alert, he clicked on the message.

A file opened, one of the not so secret kind that was simply a compilation of commonly known data about a specific individual, in this case a Greek merchant. To access files like this agents didn't need to confirm their identities, only provide the right security key. This way crucial background information was easily and quickly available for agents everywhere and usually, when a passkey accidentally fell into the wrong hands, there was not much harm done. None of the information were actually secret.

The file in itself was not all that interesting, a merchant dealing with everything that brought lots of money fast, suspected of illegally shipping arms, drugs, and other contraband. For Benji the average everyday criminal. Most likely someone was taking care of him already.

Also the content wasn't what had triggered the alert. Although there seemed to be an active case, most of the information was comparatively old, and even the most recent additions dated back over a month already. Which meant that something else must have sparked the interest of his self-written search program.

Cracking his knuckles, Benji leaned over his keyboard and started to rummage through the file's meta-data. His ping had been triggered by someone accessing the file, and there was only one access that could be responsible.

Opening another window, he typed in a few commands and soon knew he was on the right track. The key that had been used was one of the old ones, that dated back to before the invocation of Ghost Protocol two years earlier. All the access codes had been renewed with the reinstatement after the CIA takeover half a year ago, but most of the old keys were still active out of convenience and because the security risk was virtually nonexistent. Still it meant that this wasn't likely to have anything to do with any ongoing mission, and only strengthened Benji's suspicion.

The list of agents who had been handed this particular key was long, even once the computer had filtered out only those still active in the reinstated IMF. Frustrated Benji decided he needed a different approach and started to trace the access back to its geographic origin. The request had been relayed over several proxies and encrypted to hide its source, but soon the techie had a result that looked very promising.

He ordered the computer to sort the list of agents he had compiled earlier by the proximity of their current known or assumed location to where he believed the access had been from, and to eliminate all outside a certain range.

He was prepared to sift through them by hand, but to his surprise his new search brought up only one hit. And one that was spot on.

The eager smile that had spread over Benji's face during his search broadened into a grin, when he glanced at the black-and-white picture and the name written on top of the file that popped up. Then it dropped instantly when his eyes met the writing that was printed across the file in bloody red letters:

 **DISAVOWED**

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Absentmindedly William Brandt, Chief Analyst, sat in the cafeteria and stared into a cup of coffee that was slowly growing cold. He had not been so foolish to give up field work again, but he hadn't complained about keeping his office job, either. In the last half year he had tried to get out there some more again, but ultimately there had been no one else to do his job.

Brandt stirred his coffee, watching the swirls he produced in the dark liquid. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there. He had excused himself from the office early, and Hunley had let him go without asking any questions. He simply hadn't been able to concentrate, the date hanging over his head like a Damocles-sword.

Logically he knew that he couldn't have changed anything. He had been too far away. And yet it was so easy to put the blame on himself. He hadn't been there. But he could have been. Should have been.

With a sigh he lifted his cup and took a sip. Brandt grimaced. His coffee was cold.

He only half looked up when someone sat down across from him. He knew it could only be one of two people, no one else in their right mind would have dared to approach him right then. Still he forced his gaze away from his cup of cold coffee, and looked at Luther who sat there in a heavy, dripping rain coat.

"Where do you come from?" Brandt asked with a croaky voice, trying to sound interested.

"I'm not actually here," Luther replied flatly. "I took a day off."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Luther Stickell had spent the morning on the pier, staring out at the sea. The place itself didn't have a meaning. For a field agent few places ever did. The only thing about it was that especially in this weather he would be alone there, and that was exactly how he wanted it. He wasn't feeling like meeting anyone today, and the few people he did see decided to stay out of his way.

He had stood there for hours, watching the waves rolling ashore, and thinking about the past, the present and the future. But mainly the past. He had been thinking about retiring from the field before. One time he had actually done it, but right now for the very first time he felt it was the right time. He felt tired, exhausted, old.

If Ethan had been there, he thought, he would make fun of him for that. But he wasn't there. He was gone. Missing. As of today, he was officially disavowed and presumed dead.

Despite the cold sprinkle on his face, when he closed his eyes, Luther could still see the blazing building, hear the howl of the fire truck sirens, remnants of a supposedly easy mission that had spectacularly gone up in smoke. He should have known it then. But now he could no longer ignore it. Now he had to accept that this time, Ethan Hunt would not be coming back.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"Coffee?" Brandt offered in a half-hearted try to break the silence that had evolved. Luther only shook his head, so the two men kept staring at their respective spots on the table, until another person let herself fall onto the chair next to Luther. Both looked up.

"Shouldn't you still be in infirmary?" Brandt asked as Skye wordlessly put four steaming mugs onto the table. The long sleeves of her sweatshirt almost covered the bandage on her right hand, but her moves were still very careful.

"Special leave. Not that they could have kept me there today anyway," she explained and took a sip from her coffee. "Have you seen Benji? I couldn't find him in his office."

"Sorry, I had to look something up," Benji apologized behind her. He gave her a light, careful hug, aware of the cracked ribs underneath the striped sweater. Then he sat down next to Brandt.

Even underneath his blond hair, Benji was looking incredibly pale, except for the dark rings around his eyes. Brandt knew he didn't look much better. So far they had managed to keep up at least a semblance of being alright, but today they all seemed to be falling apart. Yet looking at Benji, the analyst thought there was something else.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost," Brandt stated, trying and failing to find a mocking tone. He instantly regretted it.

"Maybe I have," Benji muttered, turning another shade paler. Then he quickly busied himself with his coffee.

"So?" Luther asked, when he didn't volunteer any more information.

The other techie had realized, too late, that he had already implied more than he should have, and now he was treading on very thin ice. But now it was too late to back out. He swallowed, then carefully said: "I... I got a new ping."

Brandt looked up, unsure if he should actually reach for that very thin straw Benji was handing them. But Skye took the decision from him. "You think we have a new lead?"

Benji was still thinking about how he should respond to not raise too many hopes, when Luther interrupted him. "It's probably nothing."

"But what if it's not?" Benji inadvertently raised his voice. The temperature in the room dropped from cold to frosty. Luther steadily met his gaze, but Benji refused to be intimidated by his stare. Neither dared to blink.

Still, when Luther spoke his voice shook ever so slightly. "I was there. The whole place was on fire and if he made it out, we would know it by now. He's not coming back."

Benji looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and hurt, but when no one opposed him, Luther stood up and turned to go. He almost ran into the secretary.

Hunley nodded a greeting at the agents and when Luther tried to move past him, he held him back. "Agent Stickell," he said, and Luther stopped. Then he addressed them all. "Something urgent has come up. If you would join me in my office, please."


	2. Chapter 2

I'm sorry for the long wait, but technical problems kept me from uploading.

ThunderVoid: Thanks for the review! I hope you keep enjyoing it.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

"So, what is this precious freight of yours?" Although Sergey was used to looking up at people, with Kostas it really annoyed him. It gave the Greek such a convenient excuse for looking down on him, with his grimy sneer of yellowed teeth. It made him sick to look at it, so he avoided it as much as he could, rather watching his way as he followed the merchant through the docks.

"You will see, my friend," Kostas only said with his hyena-laugh.

Sergey's gut feeling gradually worsened as the Greek led the way between long rows of containers, turning this way and that, so he had trouble to hold on to his sense of direction. He was sure they were walking in circles. Then, finally, they approached a group of containers with Cyrillic and Arabic markings. Kostas stepped up to one of them and motioned one of the gorilla-like men who doubled as his bodyguards to open the door. What Sergey saw, as it slowly swung open, made him feel sick.

Only thanks to his experience he managed to keep a cool face, as he looked into the container. There, in the metal crate, stood between twenty and thirty women, on between 15 and 50 years old, pressing themselves against the back wall, in fear and terror. From what he could see of their dirty faces, most of them were Asian, North African and Eastern European, but there were also a few Black Africans. Sergey took a moment to make sure he wouldn't show how much he despised the sight. "Not what I expected."

"Yes, of course not," Kostas said, and he seemed to take pride in the fact that he had surprised Sergey. His sickening smile grew even broader. "But I hope that is not a problem."

Suddenly Sergey became uncomfortably aware of Kostas' gigantic bodyguards standing behind him, closing off any possible way for flight. He forced himself to relax and shrugged. "Not for me anyway."

"Well, then I hope you know that regarding this business anything that is my problem is your problem," the Greek stated in a nonchalant way, with a voice that sounded like someone scratching his fingernails over a blackboard.

Sergey forced himself to a cold smile. "It's all a question of numbers, destination, and, most of all, money."

Kostas' smile grew a hue warmer and an understanding, yet still patronizing look flashed over his eyes. "Overall it's 127, in four containers. And the destination is England, where exactly, I don't care as long as you get them into the country," he said in a matter-of-fact way. "As to the money, my customers are very rich men, who are willing to pay quite a sum for their entertainment and pleasure. I believe we can find a reasonable bargain."

"My share will be the least part," Sergey replied, suppressing a sigh. "There is a lot of things to be thought of. Food, water, acceptable temperatures. You wouldn't like your precious wares to be damaged. And then there's the paperwork, Germany, France, Denmark, England, the regulations are very strict in those countries. And officials not as easily bribed."

"I am sure you will find a way," Kostas said, while his bright smile turned sour.

Slowly, trying not to grin too broadly, Sergey nodded. "I will think about it."

"You've got three days. I want them out of here by day four," Kostas said and turned around. Although he still smiled, there was a threat underlying his words that was hard to miss.

He took a last look at the frightened women, before he followed Kostas out. From the horrified looks on some of their faces he thought that at least a few of them knew enough Russian to understand what was going on.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Brandt sighed as he sat down in the much too comfortable armchair at the head of the conference table in the specially outfitted streamline jet. With a button on the table he activated the display, where a bulky, dark-haired face came up.

Benji recognized it immediately. "Gregorio Kostas," he said, before he could stop himself.

Brandt nodded with surprise, then went on to explain, "This is the man we're after. Ever since we took out Nolan, Kostas has been rising to take his place. Although he is still far from the criminal empire Nolan had, he has already enlarged his enterprise, trading in everything that brings money. It seems that his newest business endeavor is human trafficking."

The analyst paused, changing the display. Four agent files appeared, and Benji flinched slightly when he saw the 'missing' mark on one of them, but none of the others seemed to notice.

"Our mission is search and rescue," Brandt explained. "This team has been gathering information on Kostas' operations and others, with the aim to bring down several slave-trading rings. One of them has been captured either by Kostas himself or by someone who traded her to him."

He enlarged the agent file marked 'missing'. It showed a woman with short, dark-blond hair. Benji opened his mouth, but closed it again, when Brandt continued, "This is Elaine Bray, the agent in question. Usually we would disavow, but Agent Bray has been gathering information on this far longer than the rest of the team and might have valuable intel the others don't. Also we have good reason to believe her cover is still intact. The rest of the team are still in place in Egypt, following up other leads, so it's up to us to intercept Kostas' freight and recover our missing agent."

"So where are we going?" Luther asked. It had taken some convincing to get him to accept, but the argument that this was a time-sensitive mission and they were the best agents available had finally done the job.

"St. Petersburg," Brandt replied and Luther's face tightened. They had had concerns that coming back here this soon after the Gatchina mission might create problems, but Benji and Brandt had agreed that it would be better for him to get out of D.C. and they could use the older agent's experience.

By now it was too late for either of them to back out, so Brandt continued, changing the screen to a map of Russia. "Kostas never has his wares shipped by his own people, he uses independent contractors for that. Still, we know a few of his usual business partners and managed to trace four containers belonging to him through Russia. We believe that they hold women, whom he plans to sell to rich households in Western Europe. And we're quite sure that our missing agent is among them.

"We have traced the crates to St. Petersburg," Brandt went on and the satellite map zoomed in on the city. "We don't know where exactly they are, when they are going to be shipped out and where they are going to next. But we do know who'll be shipping them."

He touched another key and the map moved aside, making space for the picture of another man. The man had a wild, originally brown but now slightly gray mane, and wore a bright, warm grin that was so much more comfortable to look at than Kostas', although it was already missing a few teeth.

"This is Rodya Polzin. He owns a transport and shipping company in St. Petersburg, bettering his income with a little smuggling. Although up to now he's never done anything serious," Brandt explained. "His business is a relatively small one, but he needs freight papers for most of his transports. As the crates are a comparatively big freight, he'll be sure to have some kind of papers for it too. Forged papers most likely, but still able to tell us where our crates are going. Once a week he has a courier take the papers from his office in the central station to the transport authorities to have them signed. The courier is due tomorrow and we can be sure that he'll have our papers."

"So we intercept the courier, grab the papers and see where they lead us," Luther summed up the plan Brandt had been working up to.

Brandt nodded and looked at Benji, who had raised his hand like a school child. "Just one little question," he said, putting down his hand. "How do we find the courier?"

Brandt pushed a few keys and the image on the screen changed again. It was the image of a security camera showing the central station. A red circle appeared around a small door in the wall, which might otherwise have gone unnoticed.

"We know where Polzin's office is. It's in full view of the security cameras and usually there's not a lot of people coming and going, so whoever is coming out of that office tomorrow has to be our courier. Luther, you'll set yourself up outside the station and get into their security mainframe. I want you to have a camera on that door at all times. Benji and I will do the intercept."

Brandt looked around to see if there were any questions, but there were none. It was a simple plan, and although the public place introduced a few uncertain factors, it should be an easy run.

Still, Benji had a feeling things might get a little more complicated. He would have liked to have Skye around, if only to have someone he could talk over his findings with. But even though Skye herself had asked to come along, the doctors had ultimately overruled her. And with the tension still hanging between him and Luther, he just didn't dare to bring it up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Rodya, we can't do this." Sergey raised his voice to underline the urgency, but tried hard not to yell. "They are humans, people. We can't just ship them in containers like animals. I can't, anyway, and I'm not going to do this!"

Rodya Polzin drummed his fingers on the desk he was leaning on, then set off to walk another round through the small room that was his office. "I know, I know," he said, thinking hard, before he returned to his desk. "But it's not that easy. You know, I had no idea about this. He asked for a transport, the payment was good – very good, no questions asked. And now I can't just skip out of it, you know. I'd like to, this business has been much more trouble than it's worth already, but we have a deal."

With a sigh Sergey buried his face in his hands, then ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture of desperation. "There's got to be a way out of this, we got to get out of it now!" he said, looking up at his employer. Now he was yelling.

Rodya looked as if he was close to tears, which was unusual for the bear-like man. "There is none! If we don't do what he wants then he'll have our heads. For breakfast. On a silver plate!"

"Are you sure there's absolutely no way?" Sergey asked again, but he knew himself that if he wanted to get out of this business, Rodya couldn't help him any more than he could help Rodya. He rubbed his forehead and shook his head. No, there was no way out. If he wanted to do something for the women in those containers, he had to do it once they were out of Russia.

"Alright," he finally said and Rodya's face brightened. "I'll do it. But this will be the first and the last job we're doing for Kostas. After that you break it up."

"I will. I promise!" Rodya said, shaking Sergey's hand with effusive thankfulness and relief. Sergey pulled his hand out of his bear-like grip and picked up the bag from the desk. "Alright, then I'll go on that paper run now. Kostas won't be happy if anything is delayed."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"There he comes," Luther said, when he saw the office door open on his computer screen.

Benji looked up from his newspaper. He did see the door, however he couldn't see who came out. There were just too many people. Reluctantly he folded his paper and stood up. "I can't see anything. I'll have to have a closer look."

"Roger that. Luther, keep your eyes on that door. We need a clear ID on that courier, so we can track him in the crowd," Brandt replied, approaching the office from the other side. Just before Luther had given the go sign, a big intercity train had come in, so from one minute to the other a dense crowd had formed in front of the row of shops. "I want to get him before he leaves the station. He will be hard to follow outside."

"Got it," Luther said and put another camera on the door.

"Guys?" Benji chimed in. "We might need a change of plans."

"I see what you mean," Luther said dryly. The person leaving the office was a man in a wheelchair, with shoulder long dark hair, who quickly disappeared into the crowd. "So much for that idea."

"Are you sure that's our man?" Brandt asked, keeping his position by the office door.

"His bag's the right size and if he is we can't risk loosing him," Luther put in. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on the door."

"So what's the play then?" Benji put in, trying to keep his eyes on the man. "I mean, we can't just take down a guy in a wheelchair. Not with that many people around. Someone would interfere, I know I would."

Indecisively Brandt looked from the door to the spot in the crowd where the man had just disappeared. Then he followed Benji. "Keep your eyes on him, we'll follow him outside," he decided. "We'll have to wait until he goes somewhere more quiet."

"Outside I don't have any cameras," Luther stated with some concern. "At least not after he's off station grounds and there's as many people out there. And once he's out of the crowd he'll be faster than we are. Also, if he gets on a bus or a tram, he'll be gone."

"OK, so we've got to get that bag, before he's out of here," Brandt sighed. With dread he watched the exit coming closer. He hated it when things got complicated. And right now he wished there was someone else in charge. But right now a decision had to be made and he had to make it. "Alright, we'll just have to grab the bag and run."

Benji grimaced. He wasn't quite comfortable with that idea, it was by far not as elegant as their usual plans. "That's like stealing a lollipop from a kid," he muttered, slowly gaining on their target.

Luther snorted sardonically. "Won't be quite as easy."

"Oh, you never tried to take sweets from a hyperactive four-year-old," Benji put in, but their banter was interrupted by Brandt.

"I see the target. Engage."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

When Sergey left Rodya's office, he knew that someone was following him. He didn't know who they were, but he was intelligent enough not to take a look back to see them. Since Kostas had showed up, he had made sure to always keep his head down. Kostas himself hadn't recognized him, not yet anyway, but he couldn't rely on being that lucky with all of Kostas' people. He had himself already identified a couple of them.

He didn't know if they were just tailing him, but he got a feeling they were closing in. Maybe they were just trying not to lose him. Or maybe they were waiting for him to get somewhere less crowded. He wasn't sure what they were after, but he didn't want to find out.

Sergey decided that it was best to get his job done as quickly as possible. It couldn't be him personally they were after, or they'd picked another moment. The most likely alternative then was that they were after the freight papers. Or maybe he was just getting paranoid, but he didn't want to take any risks.

Heading straight for the door, he shoved through the thickening crowd. When he was only meters away from the door, a hand reached down at him aiming for the bag. More out of reflex than anything else, Sergey grabbed the man's arm and yanked it to the other side. The momentum of the man's motion had them both toppling over and the bag fell down, spilling it's contents on the floor between people who scattered with surprised screams.

The attacker was lying behind him and further away from their common target. Sergey was missing only a few inches to reach the papers, but knew he could never get to them first.

Yet he couldn't let the other man get them either.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Benji hadn't thought his comparison to Skye's niece and nephew would be this spot on, until he found himself sprawling on the cold stone floor. With a groan he lifted his head to examine his position more closely. In front of him and to the right were the papers, spilling out of the bag. Next to that the wheelchair, turned onto its side. And next to that the man, still holding Benji's arm by the wrist.

Before he could comprehend what was happening, the man turned onto his side with astonishing agility. Benji's arm twisted painfully, and he was forced back to the floor. His left arm was trapped underneath him and the weight of his adversary. Just where the hell was Brandt?

"Sergey!"

Benji managed to turn his head just enough to get a somewhat strange view of the newcomer. It was a young man, no more than twenty years old, with reddish brown hair and light stubble.

"I'm fine," the man who had to be Sergey replied in hasty Russian. The younger man stopped and he added: "Take the papers and go!"

The redhead hesitated, then stooped down to collect the spilled files. Just when he picked up the bag, Brandt emerged from the crowd. The young man was headed straight for him, and obviously realized he couldn't evade the other man, so he tried to shoulder his way through, but Brandt managed to catch him, one hand on the strap of the bag, one on the collar of his jacket.

In that moment Benji suddenly felt the weight lift off his back and the hand letting go of his arm. Quickly he pushed himself up. Prepared to pursue their new target, he jumped to his feet and almost fell over Brandt. He only just evaded a kick that was originally aimed for Sergey, who had caught the other agent by the ankle.

"Benji, south entrance," the urgent voice of Luther called over the radio and he headed for the indicated door. He was slowed down by the mass of people streaming into and out of the station and outside Benji had to stop and look around.

"What now?" he asked back, just as Brandt came up next to him.

There was a moment of silence, then Luther announced: "We lost him."

Brandt cursed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"How could we lose him?" Brandt asked rhetorically, turning for another circle in the rather spacious two-room apartment they used as a base of operations. It had taken them no five minutes to rejoin Luther here, who had already started reviewing the video footage.

Benji was standing at the desk behind Luther. He shrugged. "I don't know. One moment he was there, the next he wasn't. He could have gone anywhere."

"There were no camera's on that street, so I can't tell you where he went," Luther said, typing on his keyboard. "What I can tell you is that his name is Andrey Vanselov. Nineteen years old. Convicted for pickpocketing and shoplifting a few times, now working for Rodya Polzin and clean record ever since."

Interested, Brandt turned and came over to look over his shoulder. But although they had everything they could possibly know on Andrey Vanselov, there was so little information on him they basically had nothing. Vanselov obviously had been a petty thief, but nothing more. "So, what about the other guy?"

Luther nodded and flicked through the images he had ripped from the security camera footage, but every time all they could see was a bunch of long, dark hair. He shook his head. "It's hard to get a good image of him, because in the wheelchair he's so much smaller than anyone else. And he's good. He knew exactly where the cameras are and how to keep his face away from them."

Benji watched as a small version of himself scrambled to his feet on the computer screen. It looked almost comical, when a fitting version of Brandt fell right in front of him. They both came back to their feet and headed into the crowd. The black-haired man looked after them for a moment, then robbed back to his wheelchair. He managed to turn it back right side up and scramble onto it, then disappeared in the crowd. Benji was still uneasy that they attacked a disabled guy, but the way he had fought back made him feel a little better.

"He's a professional," Brandt agreed. "Or was, at any rate. The way he took Benji down, that wasn't just luck. And the fact that he had backup suggests he's well prepared."

"Which doesn't help us at all," Luther explained. "There's about 150 people working for Polzin, officially. I'm sure that he has a lot more unofficial associates. Most of them are ex-convicts or ex-military, at least those we have files on, and whoever he is, I'm pretty sure he's not one of those."

"How so?" Benji asked, slightly surprised.

Luther grimaced. "I cross-referenced what I could find on Polzin's employees and associates with their medical records."

"So basically we got nothing," Brandt summed up, but Luther interrupted him.

"Actually I might have something," the techie said cautiously. Tapping a few keys, Luther ran the video back to where Brandt had run into the courier.

The analyst still couldn't couldn't believe that he actually had had the bag with the papers, just to be taken down in the next moment. But there Luther was right, he really was good. The move the man had used was a plain old judo trick, adapted, but still quite recognizable and expertly executed. Brandt's arm still hurt from the fall. Rubbing his shoulder, Brandt focused back on the display. Luther was zooming in on the papers that were spilled on the floor.

"There," Luther said. The blurry picture was getting more grainy, but the writing on the papers was clearing up. "The angle is kind of crappy, and some are covered by others, but I think we can get a few details out of this."

"OK, that's our best lead for now. Benji can..." Brandt broke off, when he realized the Brit was no longer standing behind him. "Benji?"

"Sorry," Benji replied, halfway into the other room. "I just got to check something out real quick."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"Sergey? Telephone!" Ivan's voice was echoing through the huge hall from the spot where he was standing near the public phone that hung on the wall next to the door.

A little surprised, Sergey interrupted his work and made his way through the rows of work-desks, wondering who would call him here. Not that it was impossible to find out he was here, but there were not all that many people who cared about him and all of them worked in the same place as he.

Taking a deep breath, he answered: "Da?"

"Ethan?" a curious and inquisitive, yet careful voice asked.

With everything he might have expected, he surely hadn't thought of this, and it struck him like lightning, setting his thoughts racing. Had he been a less self-composed person, he might have dropped the receiver with surprise. Still it took him a full second, until in the back of his head, he found what he was looking for. He couldn't quite hide his surprise to the man on the other end. "Benji?"

"Well, yes," Benji replied, a slight hint of relief in his voice, but before he could go on, Ethan interrupted him.

"How did you find me?" He was whispering, trying to keep his voice down. Not that anyone would have been able to do anything with his conversation, but there were enough curious ears in Rodya's employment and if anyone caught up any snippets of what he said now, it might lead to awkward questions.

"Now, there was a name in those papers. And there's not a lot of Serbian ex-convicts with the name of Sergey Kovac living in St. Petersburg," Benji said dryly, and before he was interrupted again, he hastily came to the reason he was calling. "Now, listen. We need your help."

"My help?" Ethan stammered, slowly comprehending what was going on. Then he noticed he had automatically responded in English and quickly switched back to Russian. "Why me? What for? And who is 'we'?"

"Me, Luther, Brandt.," Benji said, slightly impatient. "But that's not important. See, I know that you're working for Rodya Polzin, and I know you've been researching Gregorio Kostas. And we've got a missing agent who's probably in one of Kostas' shipments, but since your little helper got away with those papers yesterday, we got no idea where she is, and that's where we need your help."

"Alright," Ethan said, but then cut off when he heard someone approaching him. It was one of Kostas' guys, one of those he didn't know, who was more or less 'posted' in the packaging facility to keep an eye on things. He walked past him and out for a smoke, but he left the door open, most likely on purpose. Ethan didn't want to close the door, which might look too suspicious. But he also couldn't talk openly now, so he changed his plan. "Sweetheart, look, I've got to go back to work now."

"Sweetheart? Well, I'm flattered, but..." Benji started, quite surprised and a little taken aback, before he realized what was going on. "Oh, you can't talk right now. Okay. But could you at least tell me something?"

"I know, darling, but I'll meet you right after work," Ethan said in his sweetest honey-voice. The smoking guy outside rolled his eyes and looked away. "I'll be there at five, at the café, near the river. The one where we met last time?"

Benji battered his memory, until he found the one possible location. "Alright. The café. At five. Anything else?"

"Love you, honey," Ethan said with a sugar-coated voice and hung up, leaving a slightly speechless Benji on the other end.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The café had was a small place, although it had one of the best locations by the river. In summer the chairs and tables outside would have been filled, mostly with tourists. But now, although it was warm for the time of year, temperatures were only just above freezing and with a light drizzle falling and only very few patrons were sitting outside, in the immediate shadow of the house-wall shielding them from the weather.

Benji approached slowly until he found the man he was looking for, sitting at the edge of the group of outside tables between the wall and a potted plant. He was barely visible, overshadowed by the protruding roof that was meant to give shade in summer and protection from rain, and even the trained agent would have had trouble locating him if he hadn't known where to look.

Nonchalantly he strolled over to the table and took a chair. He couldn't suppress the victorious grin as he sat down and greeted the man opposite him. "Ethan."

"Benji," he replied, mirroring the Brit's smile in a calmer, more measured manner. His face was still mostly hidden in shadows, and also his hair, which had grown visibly since they had last seen each other, but there was no mistaking him. "The others aren't coming?"

Benji took a deep breath before answering, then let it out in a sigh. "They don't know I'm here," he finally admitted. "Things have been hard since you... disappeared. You're assumed to be dead. And Luther isn't exactly taking it well."

Hunt nodded understandingly, and for a moment they sat in silence.

Benji knew it was a bad idea, but the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since he had confirmation of Ethan being alive, burned itself through. "Why didn't you come back?"

He thought he could see the older agent flinch. For a moment Ethan held his gaze, saw the hurt and the hope in his eyes, the concern and the pure uncomprehending disbelief. Then he looked away. "Long story," he mumbled. When he looked back up, his gaze was stern and businesslike. "You said you need my help?"

Benji gave him one last, pleading look, before he gave up. "Yes," he said with a silent sigh and handed him a thin folder. "As I said, we're missing an agent, Elaine Bray. It seems her cover is still intact, but she got caught up in Kostas' trafficking operation. If that's the case she probably has intel that might not only bring down Kostas, but also a lot of his partners."

Ethan only shortly glanced at the profile on top, before he pocketed the file and looked back up. "You know her?"

Benji swallowed. "Yes. We've been in field training together. Honestly I don't know if I'd have made it without her help. But I hadn't heard from her since," he answered honestly and bit his lip. "Well, it's been hard keeping track of people, what with Ghost Protocol, and Nolan, and the CIA." And Skye, he added in his mind.

The older agent gave him a sympathetic smile, then dropped back into his thinking gaze. "Come back here tomorrow, same time," he finally said when the silence started to stretch. "And try to bring Brandt and Luther then."

Benji nodded and stood up, then turned back at Ethan who was still staring holes into the air. "And you?"

"I'll think of something."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

It was an idea she had had for quite a while, but now was the best chance she had seen so far, for going through with it. Mostly because she knew that they currently were on dry land, in a city, which gave her a chance of actually getting away, but didn't know how much longer. They had said they would be shipped on to England soon, and while England was somewhat more appealing than Russia, she was all for getting out as soon as possible. The kidnappers had a vested interest in keeping them alive, there was hardly enough food and water to go around and the thin blankets they had been given were only just enough to keep them from freezing.

The second and more urgent reason why she wanted to leave now, was a bit of luck. She had noticed in the past days that the men who brought them food and water were getting lazy. While they always made sure to lock the doors, not all of them actually bolted them shut. The lock itself was enough to keep them shut from the outside, and while they were on dry land, it was unlikely the doors could be accidentally opened. But it was not designed to keep the door locked to anyone from the _inside_.

The man who had just brought them their dinner, had been one of the lazy sort, so while the other women were crouched over the skinny rations, she walked over to the door. It was hard, working completely without light, but soon she had the short, thin-bladed knife wedged between the rubber seals of the doors and jacked up the lever of the lock.

The door swung open with a faint creak, and she stopped to see if anyone had heard. When everything stayed silent, she quickly slipped out. Swiftly she slipped along the rows of containers, sticking to the shadows as much as she could. But soon she realized that getting out of the container might have been the easier bit.

She didn't even know what city she was in, and the container port seemed to stretch forever. Now, however, she wasn't about to go back. And if she couldn't find her way out on her own, she decided, she would just have to ask.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Sergey took his time making his way through the container port. Since it was already dark, huge floodlight lamps illuminated most of the port area, casting sharp shadows where containers were stacked higher. Three days, Kostas had said, and today was day two.

Today he was delivering the preliminary paperwork and shipping routes. Tomorrow he would have the last official documents and that night four containers officially declared as furniture would be shipped out of St. Petersburg to a small container port in Ashington on the east coast of England, via Denmark. That was the plan he had for Kostas. According to his own plan, things wouldn't go past tomorrow.

Moving between the rows, Sergey made a point of noting the markings on the different containers, the positions of security cameras and the angles of light and shadow. He had only been there once, but easily found his way back.

When he was almost at Kostas' office, expecting to see one of his pretentiously bulky bodyguards any minute, he suddenly felt a tug from behind, an arm around his neck and something sharp against his throat. A hand grabbed his left arm, trying to force it behind his back, but Sergey leaned to the right in a sudden motion, towards his attacker but away from the knife.

His adversary, who had had to squat down to his height, lost their balance and they both toppled over. He felt a slight sense of déjà vu and the rough fall painfully reminded him of the sores he still had from this morning's adventures, but refused to be distracted. He made sure his shoulder hit the attacker's elbow and the knife clattered to the floor.

Sergey's left wrist was still caught in a tight grip, so he quickly swiped the knife with his right hand and then rolled over to face his adversary. He came to rest with his left arm on her collarbones, ready to use the knife if he needed to, but he quickly decided he wouldn't. The woman was smaller than himself and seemed unnaturally thin, although generally well trained. Her clothes looked worn and dirty, and an outgrown brush-cut of tousled, dark-blond hair framed an unwashed, stern looking face, with light, ocean-green eyes.

"Agent Bray," he stated, and watched her face change almost imperceptibly: her eyes widened, her pupils narrowed, indicating surprise, and alertness. "I'm Agent Hunt. Benji sent me."

Her hands that still grabbed his left arm, relaxed, and her general tension seemed to ease a bit. "We're going to get you out of here," he continued. "You just got to hang in a little longer."

Agent Bray answered with a curt nod, just as he could hear footsteps coming up behind them. Quickly he slipped the knife into his sleeve, then looked up at the guard who had just come out from behind a container.

"I think one of your containers is leaking," Sergey said to the guard.

" _Blien_ ," the guard muttered and roughly grabbed the woman's arm, when he moved aside. "You gonna be alright?"

"Sure," Sergey answered and crawled back to his wheelchair for the second time in just as many days.

The guard nodded. "Thanks," he murmured, then dragged the woman off.

Sergey took his time getting to Kostas' office.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Anatoly Sidorov of the Russian Intelligence Service was mostly bored sitting at his desk, chewing on a cigarette while contemplating over his PC and the huge stack of paperwork in front of him. He hated reports. And right now he hated them even more, because for quite some time they hadn't included anything that he really thought worth reporting. His life had been lacking some action lately.

So when his phone suddenly rang, he was trying rather hard not to sound unnerved, bored and uninterested as he answered. "Da?"

"I've got a problem which might interest you," a voice said which he hadn't heard in over two years and instantly brought a smile to his face. This was promising more action than he had had lately, and it even made him forget about the stack of paperwork he still had to do and which would most likely double now anyway. "American! What can I do for you?"

"Does the name Gregorio Kostas ring a bell?" Ethan asked politely.

The Russian had to think for a moment, but then nodded. "Greek merchant, suspected drug dealer, arms trader and trafficker. Getting increasingly annoying, but there's no way we can pin anything on him, I'm afraid. What do you want with him?"

"He's got one of my people," Ethan replied curtly. "I want that agent back, but I might need a little help. In return you'll get Kostas."

"What do you need?" Sidorov asked, not thinking twice.

Ethan smiled. "How soon can you be in St. Petersburg?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"I don't think this is a good idea," Andrey stated, looking first at Sergey, then at the group of Americans sitting at a table a little further off, and then at the small package in his hands. "I mean those guys ran you over. The people who were after the papers. They probably mean trouble and..."

"Yes, I know," Sergey said calmly. Getting Andrey to do him a favor was relatively easy, especially promising a little pocket money. Convincing him of what he would have to do right now, was quite another. But he had anticipated that and brought plenty of time. "But they are not as bad as you think. Trust me on that one."

"Okay," Andrey replied, not really convinced. "Apart from that, I'm a pickpocket. A thief. I take things out of peoples jackets, not put them in."

"If you can take something out, you can put something in." Sergey replied patiently.

Andrey raised his eyebrows. "And you know that how?"

Sergey smiled mysteriously. Andrey hated it when he did that, he always thought he was keeping something from him. Then again, he didn't tell his whole past to anyone either. And what was over was over and none of his problem. "Experience," Sergey finally answered. "I would do it myself, but I'm not as good as I used to be, since..."

He broke off and looked down, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his wheelchair. There was that look again, that Andrey had seen before. He was sure, somehow, that no one else had ever seen it, since it only ever lasted a split second. "So are you going to do it now or not?"

Once more Andrey looked at the Americans, the package in his hand and the bills in his other. "It's not a bomb, right?" he asked.

Sergey chuckled. Although they only knew each other for a few months, Andrey had come to admire the older man, and felt like he knew him better than anyone he had ever known. But he had never seen him actually laugh.

"If wanted to plant a bomb, I'd have a lot easier ways that I could do myself."

Involuntarily Andrey shuddered at the remark, but he didn't ask any questions. Rather reluctantly he shoved the money into his pocket and the package into the other. "Alright, I'll do it," he said and drew his hood over his face.

"Good luck," Sergey said with a pat on his back, as the young Russian walked away, towards the tables in front of the café.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"Are you sure you got that meeting point right?" Brandt asked, looking on his watch, increasingly impatient.

"Yes," Benji said, although he himself was slowly getting nervous and drumming his fingers onto the table. It had been hard enough to convince the other two to come with him here in the first place, and now it was looking like this was turning into a disaster, too. "Besides, it's not unlike Ethan to show up late."

Yet he knew he was only trying to find an excuse. Ethan wouldn't have chosen the place and time if he hadn't known he could make it. If he was late he usually had a very good reason, and right now Benji couldn't see any reason that would actually keep him from coming, so everything that he came up with was some sort of worst case scenario which didn't make it any better.

Luther was thinking about this completely differently. By now he was mad at himself for having let that little spark of hope come up for even a moment. He should have known that it couldn't be. He should have known that it was impossible. "Or maybe he's not going to come at all."

"What are you trying to say?" Benji shot back, instantly feeling offended. He knew he should be more diplomatic, but by now they were so used to their argument that he already had his defenses up before he even noticed they were fighting again.

"I am saying," Luther growled, reminding him a little of a hungry wolf, or maybe rather a bear, "that you have been making this up. That you probably don't even know you made this up. That maybe you need serious help."

For a moment Brandt thought that maybe he should intervene, but he knew well enough that if this failed, they did not have any serious leads anymore. And the past had taught him that any outcome of his interference was not worth being yelled at, or worse. Besides, he wasn't so sure himself which side he was on, so he just kept drinking his coffee.

"So, basically you're saying that I'm mad," Benji replied in a voice that was matter-of-fact, but loaded with sarcasm. "Well, if you're not believing me, and you think that there's nothing going to happen here anyway, then maybe you should go now. Because otherwise you are wasting your time."

Luther stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether he should stay, just to not give in to Benji. But then he decided that this was a colossal waste of time anyway. "I'm out of here," he said and stood up a little too brusquely, shoving over the table which fell over with dishes clattering to the floor, and almost running over someone who passed behind him.

While Benji only just managed to get out of the way, spilling his drink all over himself in the process, Brandt had anticipated this enough to get up and out of the way before anything came his way. Stepping backwards, he bumped into someone while he did, but had too many other things on his mind to care much about that.

"And now?" he asked, looking after Luther who didn't even turn around to see what he'd done.

Benji had started drying off his jacket with a napkin and perked up at the analyst's question. "Brandt?" he said in a curious voice, looking up, but not directly at the other agent. "Your jacket is ringing."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Luther walked away briskly from the café. Immediately regret stirred in the back of his mind, but he shoved it away. He couldn't give in to that now. Whatever Benji was thinking he was doing, he knew it was time to move on. No way would he let himself be tempted by false hope, only to be hurt again.

He was almost at the next side street he had to take back to their safe-house, when the slight drizzle from earlier started again. He ducked into his collar against the wind and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, when he felt something brush against his hand. Something moving.

He grabbed the box-like plastic object and pulled it out. For a moment he just stood there, staring at the ringing phone in his hand, then he pressed accept. "Yes?"

"You should have a bit more faith in Benji," a way too familiar voice replied. "He is a pretty good field agent."

"Ethan?" Luther gasped, his pulse suddenly racing. He spun around, blinking against the thickening mist, but couldn't see anyone suspicious on the square between the café and the river. A voice in the back of his head still told him it was impossible, but this voice was suddenly much smaller. "Where are you?"

"I'll be in your apartment," Ethan replied. "Meet me there."

It took a second until Luther registered the persistent beep that signaled the connection had been terminated. For a moment he thought he had only imagined it, then the realization started to sink in of what it meant if he hadn't. Slowly he started to walk back to the café, but he didn't have to go far.

Halfway back, he saw Benji and Brandt heading for him. Brandt put up his hands in a soothing manner, once they were in talking distance. "I know this sounds crazy," he said diplomatically. "But we just got a call..."

"From Ethan," Luther ended the sentence for him and held up the phone. He bit his lip, then looked at Benji. "I'm sorry about..."

"It's alright," the Brit interrupted him with a gleeful grin. Luther gave him a thankful nod, and for a moment no one said anything, until Benji ventured: "Let's go?"

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

After Ethan's call, Luther first had felt relieved. Then grateful. Then angry.

Angry at himself for doubting Benji, for giving up hope, and for turning his back on everyone when they might have needed him.

And angry at Ethan. For making them hurt, and worry, and believe he was dead, while actually he was alive and well somewhere else.

But all these thoughts disappeared, when they entered the apartment they had made their temporary base of operations.

Benji went first and his cheerful grin suddenly froze as he entered the room.

Behind him Brandt stopped dead in the door and Luther almost bumped into him, before he squeezed around the analyst and into the room. And then he saw.

It was definitely Ethan, that much was sure. His hair, already too long, in Luther's opinion, when he had last seen him, was falling down to his shoulders now. There was the same mischievous glint in his eyes that always made Luther a little uneasy, but something else, too. A guarded look that was new.

He was sitting in a wheelchair, right across from the door, his hands folded on his legs. With a wry smile he looked up at them. "I wasn't sure you would come," Ethan said to no one in particular, but Luther felt like it was directed at him.

"So that was you?" Brandt asked when silence threatened to stretch. His voice seemed unusually thin. "In the station?"

"Yes," Ethan replied. His smile turned slightly crooked. "Sorry about that."

Brandt opened his mouth, but then closed it again and just nodded. They stood in silence, Brandt with his hands in his pocket and his eyes on his feet, Luther, arms crossed, gazing back levelly, Benji with his lips pursed, but not knowing what to say either.

"Sit down," Ethan finally invited them, motioning with his head towards the square table. He moved to the one side that was empty, while the others took their seats, Brandt left, Benji right and Luther across from him.

"I think I owe you an explanation," he said when they all were seated.

'Hell yes, you do!' Luther wanted to shout, but the words got stuck halfway to his mouth, so he just leaned back, arms crossed.

No one spoke, so Ethan continued: "We were contacted by a covert agent in Gatchina, who had new information on one of our Seattle tags. He couldn't risk being seen with us, but told us he would check in to the Grand Hotel. The plan was that I would go in during the party, snatch a master key from reception, go to his room and get the disc.

"I went in at shortly before midnight, with Luther watching from outside. The room of our contact was on the seventh floor, I was on sixth when a new years fire cracker hit a balcony on the floor above and set the adjoining rooms on fire, which set off the fire alarm. I didn't know that then, and was almost in the room, so I decided to continue."

There was a collective silent sigh around the table.

"I found the disc where he'd said he left it and was on my way out, when the ceiling caved in on me. Apparently a gas pipe cracked in the heat, and when it came in contact with the fire the explosion shattered the wall. I was knocked out by the ceiling. From what I was told, they pulled me out an hour later, when the fire was contained, and had me flown straight to a St. Petersburg hospital.

"I woke up there two weeks later as the nameless guy in room 204, with a broken arm, cracked ribs and multiple open fractures on both legs. I didn't know then what had happened, so I gave them an old cover name and told them I had been working in the hotel, off the record. Police came in the next week to question me. They bought my story, with a little incentive turned their back on my alleged moonlighting, and told me what had happened. One of them is in Rodya's pocket and contacted him, and when I was released after almost six weeks total in hospital, I started working for him, without ever having any trouble, until Kostas turned up the other week.

"And that is, I believe, where my problem meets your problem," he concluded. There was silence around the table, and Ethan let it stretch a bit, before he continued: "I have managed to gain Rodya's full trust relatively quickly and gain a high standing with Kostas, so I could learn a few things: The agent you're – we're – looking for was captured by Kostas, but as far as I could determine her cover is still intact. She's supposed to be shipped to England tomorrow, together with 126 other women Kostas is keeping in shipping containers at the container port."

The other agents perked up at this information and for a moment Brandt looked up, calculating. Then he clenched his teeth and ran a hand through his hair in a desperate gesture. "I do hope you have a plan, Ethan," he finally said, his voice still slightly cracked. "Because I sure don't."

Hunt gave him a conspiratorial smile, but didn't get to say anything because there was a knock on the door. The other agents jerked.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Come in," Ethan called and the door opened to reveal an average looking man with clear-cut features and short brown hair.

"Benji, Brandt, I believe you will remember Anatoly Sidorov from Russian Intelligence," he introduced the newcomer to the team. "Luther Stickell, he'll be in charge of communications."

There was a round of polite nods. Luther decided to just accept the role he had been thrust into for now and argue later, while Ethan motioned at Sidorov to take a seat.

"His problem is Gregorio Kostas. With a little luck we can arrange it that by tomorrow morning Kostas is in Russian custody with enough evidence to lock him up for a long time. Our problem is that Kostas has captured one of our agents and we want her back. Since our goals are not that far off, I thought it best we team up," Ethan summed up the situation, then activated a hidden panel. The wall behind him lit up to show a satellite image of the St. Petersburg container port.

"This is the area we will operate in," he explained. Simultaneously a red square appeared in the center of the screen, enclosing a large part of the container terminal. "All these containers belong to Kostas. Four of them hold a total of 127 women he has abducted to sell them to rich Europeans. One of them is our missing agent."

Four small rectangles seeded throughout the area lit up green. "We know that these are the four containers in question. We don't know which of them she is actually in. All the containers, including these four, will be shipped out tonight on the Arklow Raven. She will come in for loading around two in the morning. But it would be good if we don't let it come to that.

"This is Kosta's office," Ethan continued. Another rectangle in the middle of the screen lit up yellow. "We can be sure Kostas will be there, but he has guards patrolling his containers around the clock. That's why we will go in after dark, to use all the cover we can get. It's important that Kostas and his men get as little prior warning as possible, so he can't destroy any evidence. But more importantly we can't allow him to escape."

"I have managed to have the port sealed off and the ship will be held for inspection," Sidorov put in. "But we can't keep that up indefinitely. And at some point someone will notice."

"If all goes as planned, we'll be done long before that becomes a problem," Ethan reassured him. "Also they can't start loading before I have brought Kostas the official paperwork. And that's our chance. The plan, then, is that I go in, deliver my paperwork, put a trace on Kostas, if possible locate our agent, and get out of the way before you storm the place."

"Not to spoil the good mood," Benji put in. "But that does sound a bit too easy."

"It's not that easy," Ethan confirmed and something about his smile made the other agents uncomfortable. "For once I can't wear any radio or active tracker. I do have Kostas' trust, but he's extremely paranoid. His guards are checking everyone for bugs before letting them near him."

Brandt grimaced. "So if you can't take a tracker, how exactly are you planning on putting a trace on him?"

"Micro-trackers," Ethan explained. "Like what we used in Seattle. They are small enough, I can hide them easily and they activate on impact. All I have to do is stick it on him."

"Ethan, they are not designed for real time tracking," Benji replied with a frown. "Especially if we have to go stealth mode. To avoid detection, the tracker will have to send highly encoded burst transmissions relayed to us via satellite, usually in intervals of hours, or at least minutes. We'll have a delay of up to seconds and there's going to be an error margin of at least ten meters."

"The tracker sends a burst signal the first time it's activate. That's going to be your go signal, and that's all we need," Ethan decided. "Also you can narrow down the interval."

"Yes, but it's going to be nothing like a live stream." Benji looked increasingly unhappy. "I can take it down to a minute, _maybe_ half a minute. But thirty seconds is still a lot of time."

"I don't like this," Brandt muttered. "I really don't like this."

"It's the best we have. And we're running out of time," Hunt stated. He waited to see if anyone objected, but the others stayed silent. "It will work."

"I guess I'll go brief my people then," Sidorov said. He fished a cigarette out of the inside pocket of his jacket and headed for the door.

"We'll meet you at the port in two hours," Ethan said.

The Russian nodded and was gone.

"Well, I better get to work on that tracker, then," Benji put in and stood up. Brandt wordlessly followed him into the next room, leaving Ethan alone with Luther.

For a while the two men sat opposite each other in silence.

"Are you alright?" Luther finally asked. It was the first time he spoke since he had entered the room and his voice sounded rougher than usual and husky.

"Yes," Ethan answered, trying to sound reassuring.

Luther wasn't reassured. "Are you sure?"

Hunt sighed. "You don't like me going in tonight."

"No, I don't," Luther answered. He shook his head, but kept his gaze fixed on Ethan. "But that's not it."

Ethan's jaw-muscles tensed visibly as he clenched his teeth, but he didn't reply.

"You know you could have called," Luther said more softly after a while.

"I couldn't contact anyone for a long time," Ethan replied.

"You could have called," Luther insisted. "You let us think you were dead."

"I didn't know," Ethan defended himself halfheartedly, but he couldn't look the other man in the eye anymore.

"You could have guessed," Luther said dryly. "Do you know what you're putting all of us through every time you just vanish into thin air?"

"I'm sorry," Ethan whispered. His voice cracked and the attempt of a smile failed miserably. He was staring at his hands folded on top of the table. "I just didn't want to come back. Not like this."

"So you're not coming back?" Luther asked silently, half hopeful, half disappointed.

Ethan sighed and looked up meekly. "Maybe," he said. "The doctors said there's no major nerve damage and I could get back to old form, but it's going to take a lot of time and training."

Luther gave him a stern look. "You know you don't have to always do everything on your own?"

Ethan replied with a lopsided smile. "Let's get through tonight first," he decided. "Then we'll see."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Two hours later Ethan was making his way through the container terminal. The space between the rows was brightly illuminated by tall floodlight lamps, leaving sharp, black shadows where they couldn't reach. Everything was silent, except for distant shouting of dockworkers and the occasional bellow of a fog horn. And the sound of stealthy footsteps behind him.

When he was sure there was someone following him, he turned around, but only saw a dark figure vanishing into the shadows behind the container. "Who's there?" Ethan called in Russian. "Show yourself!"

Slowly the figure emerged from the shadows, turned into a person in the cold white lamp-light. Ethan sighed. "Andrey, what are you doing here?"

"I followed you," the younger man said sheepishly. "I thought maybe you'd need help."

"You shouldn't be here," Ethan replied, taking a quick glance around. "Get out."

Andrey didn't move. "Sergey, what is going on here?" he asked. "Ever since the Greek turned up you're acting all weird and then the Americans..."

"Andrey, go back," Ethan interrupted with urgency. "Kostas is dangerous. More dangerous than anyone we usually deal with."

"Then you shouldn't be alone," Andrey protested.

"Go back. Now."

The young Russian hesitated, but Ethan's insistence payed off and he headed back between the containers. He waited long enough to be sure that Andrey was really going, then he turned around and continued his way to Kostas' office.

It didn't take him long to get there and in the back of his mind he noted that he hadn't run into any of Kostas' goons, until then. One of the bulky guards stood in front of the shipping container that doubled as the Greek's base of operations and opened the door for him.

"Ah, I've been waiting for you," Kostas greeted him inside and something about his shark-like smile made Ethan feel a cold shudder run down his spine. He could hear the door being closed behind him and felt suddenly trapped. He was surrounded by Kostas' guards, enough of them he couldn't get an accurate count from his lowered point of view. "It's very nice of you to come by, Ethan Hunt."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Andrey was both glad and sorry he hadn't heeded Sergey's instructions – or advice, as he thought of it. He knew he should have known better than to assume the older man would be exaggerating danger. Or maybe he had known all along, after all it had been that ominous feeling that had made him follow Sergey in the first place.

In any case, now was definitely the time to go. He still had to help Sergey, but he couldn't do it alone. He had to call Rodya. Or go straight to the police.

But first,he had to get out.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"It's astonishing I haven't recognized you earlier, but then I never had the honor to meet you in person before," Kostas sneered. "Although I have to say I'm a bit disappointed. I thought it would be a bit harder to catch you."

"It took you long enough," Ethan replied, looking up at the Greek's greasy grin. He hadn't resisted when Kostas' goons had cornered him, picked him out of his wheelchair and tied him up like a parcel. There had been too many of them in the enclosed space.

Now he was sitting on the floor in a corner of the shipping container that doubled as Kostas' office, his wrists and ankles tied with lashing straps, and he had lost hold of the transmitter somewhere in the process of being tied up. It wasn't as he had planned it, but at least additionally to Kostas, he also knew where Agent Bray was.

The short-haired blond woman was sitting next to him, tied up in a similar fashion. She was leaning back limply against the wall, her eyes staring ahead in an unfixed gaze. She hadn't moved since he had come in.

"Don't worry, she's alive," Kostas said, when he saw Ethan's look. "For now anyway. She has been very helpful in identifying you. Although not as cooperative as I could have wished. But now you're here, maybe you can help us a little."

"What do you want?" Ethan asked, trying to sound calm, although a bad feeling was starting to grow in the pit of his stomach.

"Money. Power. Information." Kostas clucked like a teacher would at an exceptionally dull student. "You really shouldn't have to ask that."

"I can give you information," Ethan offered. "If you let her go."

"Now you're being stupid, Ethan," Kostas said. "Noble, but stupid. Why would I let go a perfectly good source of information for some doubtful intel?"

He waved to someone in the back, and a small man with slicked back graying hair and big glasses stepped forward, accompanied by two of Kostas' guards. The two bulky men grabbed Ethan by the arms, and the smaller man produced a vial of clear liquid, a syringe and hypodermic needles from an leather case he was carrying.

"See, I have found a very effective way of collecting information from a person. Truthful information," Kostas explained while the small man drew some of the liquid from the vial into a syringe.

"This solution is a sort of truth serum, a new invention. It is less crude than what you would think of as conventional torture and more efficient. Although from what I have seen it seems to be rather painful," Kostas continued with a cheerful smile.

On a nod from him, the small man knelt down next to Ethan, who was still caught in the unrelenting grip of the guards. He jabbed the needle into Ethan's arm and hit a vein at once. Obviously he was practiced, but apparently not interested in making the procedure any less unpleasant than it had to be. The sting burned and when he injected the drug, Ethan felt as if his arm was eaten away by acid.

"It's quite marvelous, this substance," Kostas said, visibly delighted by Ethan's discomfort. "It interacts with the nerves and the brain. What it does exactly is very complicated, and unimportant. As a result, however, it punishes lying with an intense, unpleasant feeling. Sadly, there is a point when the drug overpowers the organism and the subject goes into a catatonic state. That's what happened to your friend, but don't worry, it goes away after some rest."

From somewhere Kostas had produced an office chair and was now sitting down comfortably across from his victims.

"Of course subjects tend to go insane after prolonged use. If they don't have a heart attack first," the Greek continued, a glitter in his eyes that might have been joyful anticipation. "Tell me, Ethan, can you feel it already?"

Ethan could definitely feel something. The burning feeling in his arm had wandered upwards and from there spread through his body. Not hot, but acidic, seemingly eating through his flesh from the inside.

"Let's try," Kostas said. "Who do you work for?"

Ethan knew what Kostas was asking for, and just as well that he couldn't tell him. But with every moment he spent contemplating, the burning intensified, until it lost its acidic quality, turning into pure pain that started to drown out all other sensations. "Rodya Polzin," he hissed through bared teeth, and the pain lessened, if only minutely, giving way to a rising feeling of nausea.

"Oh, I forgot. The effect does not only apply to right out lies, also half truths and refusal. Anything that is not the full truth," Kostas explained through a crocodile grin. "Of course it also rewards partial truths like your little workaround, at least a bit. But maybe a more direct question will be more effective."

Kostas leaned forward in his chair and the smell of his foul breath carried over to Ethan, adding to his nausea. "What is the name of your agency?"

The pain rose again. The dim light in the container became blindingly bright, but when Ethan tried to close his eyes, it felt like his eyelids were on fire.

"Come on, there's not that many possibilities."

Kostas voice seemed to pierce his eardrums.

"You're American," the Greek continued. "So, CIA, perhaps?"

The new question was like a fresh stab. Ethan tried to locate it, focus on it, like on physical pain. But it was nowhere in particular, and everywhere at once.

"It's a simple yes or no question."

Yes, simple. Simple meant easy. He could easily answer without revealing anything. Relieve the pain, and get a break, if only for a moment.

Ethan started to say 'no', but the one word turned into a pained groan when his head suddenly seemed to burst. Slowly he realized his error and knew he was rapped. Unknowingly Kostas had asked a question he couldn't answer. Relations between the CIA and IMF had never been simple, and grown increasingly complicated over time, especially since the previous year.

But if he couldn't answer, he couldn't escape the growing pain. All he could do was brave it and try to survive.

Recalling his training, Ethan tried to focus on something else, on inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. But the pain drowned out all other sensations. He couldn't feel the rhythm of his own breathing.

Growing uneasiness surged into unstoppable, irrational panic that brought back the nausea, suddenly, like a punch in the stomach. Ethan was barely aware that his head rolled sideways and his lunch retraced its earlier path. The outside world didn't exist anymore. The pain had trapped him in his own body.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Those Americans are crazy," Timofei Sokolov muttered to his colleague. "Catching Gregorio Kostas. This whole thing is crazy."

"You know the crazy Americans understand every word you say?" Benji commented in perfect Russian from his spot two meters away.

The man Sokolov had been talking to let out a dry laugh with a puff of smoke. "At least so far it's quiet," he said. "And we get paid the night shift and overtime."

"I think the quiet part is about to change," Brandt put in and stood up straight.

Two of the special forces men Sidorov had brought along were headed for them from further inside the container terminal, carrying a third person between them, who was kicking wildly, his feet inches above the ground. "Just picked him up over there," one of the men said to Brandt, motioning back at where they had just come from. "Think he's one of Kostas' gang?"

"I am not!" the man in the middle protested loudly.

Benji took a closer look. "He's not," he finally said. "Let him down."

The two officers let go and the young man stumbled forward as his feet hit the ground. He looked from Benji to Brandt and back. "You're friends of Sergey?" he asked, uncertain.

"Yes," Benji replied. "Andrey, right?"

The young Russian nodded, clearly agitated. "You have to come," he said. "Quickly."

"Slow down," Brandt interrupted, trying to sound calm. "What's going on?"

"The Greek, he's got Sergey," Andrey explained. "They've got him tied up, I saw it. And a woman. I don't know what they want from him. I couldn't hear what they were talking."

Benji bit his lip and suppressed a curse. "Did anyone see you?"

"No," Andrey answered.

"Can you lead us there?" Brandt asked.

The young man nodded.

"Luther, did you get that?"

"Every word," the other agent replied, clearly as unhappy as Brandt felt.

"Do you have a lock on the transmitter?" Brandt asked on.

"I'd have told you if I had," Luther answered dryly.

Brandt sighed. If things would be going according to plan, this would have been an easy night. But of course they didn't. When did they ever, especially when Ethan was involved?

"Well, we can't just sit around here waiting, can we?" Benji asked.

"If you go in there now and Kostas isn't there, our plan goes to shit," Luther put in.

"If Kostas found out we're onto him, our plan's already shit," Brandt stated dryly. "I say we move now."

"I'm in," Benji agreed instantly.

"Fine with me," Luther added. "Since there's not a hell lot I can do from here now, I'll come join you. But don't wait for me."

"Alright," Brandt acknowledged. Then he motioned to the Russian agents before he turned to Andrey. "OK, show us."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"Brave idiot," Kostas sighed, watching the motionless, hunched down figure that was Ethan Hunt. Then he nodded at the small, gray-haired man. "Prepare the girl for another round."

The woman hardly reacted, when he injected the liquid, but her gaze was steady now, fixed on Kostas. The Greek was amazed that it could still project anger, even hatred and defiance.

"Now, Agent... What was it again?" he asked, and had to laugh, when she responded with a pained snarl. He didn't get to ask another question though, because one of his lackeys approached him from the side.

"Problem, boss," the man said, before he could tell him off. "Police locked down the harbor. Got us surrounded, closing in fast."

Kostas jumped up with a curse. "Get rid of them. Him first," he ordered, motioning at the agents. But when one of his guards immediately took aim, he slapped the gun out of the man's hand. "Not here, idiot. In the river. No traces."

Other men lowered their firearms, but Kostas no longer paid attention. He grabbed the gray-haired man by the wrist, who dropped his leather case in the hurry. It hit the floor with the sound of shattering glass, but the man was pulled on mercilessly.

"No time for that," Kostas said harshly. "We have to go."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"There, that's it," Andrey said, pointing at a container around 100 meters down the road. A yellow shine streamed out through the open door.

"Alright, good job," said the American who sounded different when he spoke English. "Now go back."

Andrey wanted to object, but the older man cut him off, before he could. "Go home," he said in the same authoritative tone Sergey had used earlier. "And stay there."

This time the young Russian would do what he was told. He nodded and ran off into the darkness.

Benji looked after him for a moment, then turned to Brandt. The other agent confirmed their unspoken agreement with a nod and together they moved down the row of containers, quickly and efficiently, checking every corridor for potential threats. They were only one row away from the open door, when two tall figures emerged, dragging a third, smaller one.

Neither of them bothered to shout a warning. Two gunshots cracked like one, echoing off the containers. Both targets fell simultaneously, dragging their cargo with them.

Benji darted forward immediately, while Brandt hung back, securing the surrounding area. "Ethan?" he called, but received no response. And the figure sitting limply against the door-frame wasn't Ethan.

The woman didn't even look up when Benji approached, but pointed her bound hands away from where he had come from with a sense of urgency. Looking that way, he could just make out someone disappearing behind a corner. Indecisively he looked down at her and back, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Go," Brandt said behind him. "I've got this."

Benji nodded his thanks and ran off to where he had seen the shadow disappear.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Pain. There was nothing but pain.

And if there was, Ethan couldn't tell. The pain blocked out anything outside, and anything inside. It was everywhere. And everything.

Until it slowly started to ease. Slowly, but continually, a soothing feeling, like ice on an injured foot, or balm on a burn.

And with the pain receding, awareness returned, inactively at first, subconsciously. Ethan realized he was no longer sitting down. And he was moving, but not through anything he did. His own body still felt too far away for him to make it do anything.

It took him a little to realize he could hear, too, because compared to before it was now very silent. There was only a strange, rumbling white noise, coming from... below?

Ethan reflexively opened his eyes and for a moment wondered, if he actually had, for all he could see was blackness. Then suddenly feeling was forced back into his body by a rush of cold water.


	10. Chapter 10

_Once again this is the end of a story.  
I realize this has been a lengthy finale, so thanks for sticking with me._

 _Also thanks to ThiessenClocks, my amazing co-conspirator and beta reader for lending me Skye for this (and future) project(s)._

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

The corner Benji was headed to, was several rows down and lying in the shadow of the big, heavy crane towering over this part of the port. The closer he came, the more the crane gave him a bad feeling, and when he rounded the corner, he realized why.

He was headed straight for the river. And in front of him he could see the outlines of two tall, bulky men, dragging along a third, limp object between them, right at the edge of the dock. Benji knew he was too far away. Taking a shot at this distance was tricky, the shadow of the crane prevented a clear view at his target.

But he didn't actually have a choice. He took aim quickly, targeting high, just in case. And then he pulled the trigger. It took him five shots, then both his targets fell.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Finally there was silence. Around Elaine all hell was breaking lose, but none of it touched her. All she heard was silence. No more questions, just blissful silence that would ease her pain.

And slowly the agony receded, until it gave her room enough to think clearly again and she realized her wrists were no longer bound. Carefully she opened her eyes and found herself looking into an unknown face with light, ice-gray eyes looking back at her with concern.

And then the soft tenor belonging to those eyes asked: "Hey, are you alright?"

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Benji broke into a run as soon as he saw both his targets fall. Up ahead he could make out only two shapes lying on the ground, but the shadows made it hard for him to see details, and he hoped he was mistaken. But when he came closer, his suspicion was confirmed. Two dead bodies were lying at the edge of the dock. Ethan was nowhere to be seen.

Still running, Benji pulled off his jacket, ready to dive into the basin. He didn't enjoy the idea, but the thought of how deep the water was inside the harbor filled him with a whole different kind of dread.

"Ethan?" he called again, just as he reached the two dead goons. And this time there was an answer.

"Here," the familiar voice called from bellow, before it was suddenly cut off, followed by a coughing fit.

Benji knelt on the edge and looked down.

Clutching one of the moorings let into the stone, Ethan was dangling from the wall, up to his knees in water. He coughed again, when a new wave flushed him against the wall, then looked up at Benji through a curtain of black, dripping hair. His voice was hoarse, but still nonchalantly sarcastic, when he suggested: "A bit of help, please?"

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

After Benji had set off for Ethan, Brandt took a quick look inside the container to make sure it was empty, then returned to the woman outside. From her file he recognized her as Elaine Bray, the agent they had been looking for. Her hair was longer, unkempt, and as dirty as the rest of herself. Her clothes were torn and what was left of them was made of a thin woven fabric.

He estimated her to be around 5'2'' and she seemed to have been muscular, but now her body had a disproportionately lean appearance indicating undernourishment. Especially her arms were uncommonly thin, he noticed when he loosened the lashing straps tied around her wrists.

When he saw a movement from the corner of his eyes and Brandt looked up and found her looking back at him. "Hey," he said softly, trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible. "Are you alright?"

The woman closed her eyes again and let her head fall back against the metal wall with a sigh.

"I feel like my intestines are burning, I haven't eaten in two days, and I really need a shower," she muttered rapidly in a low, moaning voice, just articulate enough to be understandable. "But I guess I'll live."

Brandt nodded, not knowing what to reply, and went on to loosen the ties around her feet, when she suddenly seemed to fall at him. At first he thought she had fainted, but before he could react, she had grabbed his shoulder and hauled herself up, and over him.

With uncoordinated, but astonishingly effective movements Bray proceeded forward, half walking, half crawling. By the time Brandt had caught up with her, she was sitting inside the container, bent over a leather case.

"What are you doing?" he asked with bewilderment and worry, kneeling down beside her.

"Looking for syringes and hypodermic needles," she said, and before he could ask the next question, added: "For drawing blood."

"Why?"

"Because Kostas has a drug that presumably affects the brain and nervous system, compelling the person subjected to it to tell the full truth to any question asked. All the vials are broken, but I got a full dose before you showed up, and I'm hoping there's enough left unmetabolized in my bloodstream that we can analyze it when we're back," she answered, picking up speed again. "And no more questions now, please."

Brandt nodded and suppressed the urge to ask if she needed help. It would have been superfluous anyway, for during her explanation Bray had found what she needed and gone right ahead. Now she stored the blood sample in her pocket and leaned back against the wall.

Brandt couldn't think of anything to say that didn't contain a question, so he just sat down next to her. When he saw she was shivering, he took off his jacket and offered it to her wordlessly, which she gratefully accepted.

"I'm William Brandt, by the way," he said after a while.

The woman looked up and showed him a hint of a smile, carefully, shyly. "Elaine Bray," she said, and Brandt nodded in acknowledgment. She held his gaze for a moment, then quickly looked back down at the floor. Quietly she murmured, "Thanks."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Benji had known from the outset that getting Ethan out of the water wouldn't be easy. But he hadn't realized exactly how hard it would be, until he himself was hanging from the dock wall, one hand clinging to the slimy rung of a ladder. The other arm he had wrapped around Ethan's shoulders, helping him to hold on.

With his hands still tied, Hunt had a harder time grabbing the ladder, but to open the lashing straps, Benji would need both hands and had to effectively let go of the ladder. At the last attempt a wave had almost washed them both off. He wasn't about to try that again.

In the meantime, though, he was in desperate need of a better idea. By now they were both soaked, he could feel his own wet clothes pulling him down and his hands and feet ere numb from the cold.

And although he knew Ethan would never admit it, Benji could see he was exhausted and barely holding on. For that matter, he himself only just managed to keep hold of the ladder and a rough wind had come up, sending more waves their way. Therefore he was immensely relieved when he heard a familiar voice overhead.

"Hey," Luther said, poking his head over the edge of the wall. Behind him stood Sidorov, looking over his shoulder. "Need a hand?"

"Yes," Benji and Ethan replied in unison.

And a few minutes later they were sitting on the dock, dripping puddles onto the floor.

"Do all your plans end like this?" the Russian asked, lighting a cigarette.

Ethan gave him a tired smile. "Only the good ones."

Sidorov nodded with a dry chuckle, then walked away a few steps to answer his phone.

Meanwhile Luther had finally freed Ethan of the lashing straps. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

Ethan nodded silently. "Just," he said through chattering teeth, "no more questions. Please."

Luther nodded and stood up as Benji rejoined them after retrieving his jacket, which he had left behind on the dock, and which was subsequently still dry. "So what...?" he started, but was interrupted by Ethan.

"No questions, please," Ethan repeated in a hissing tone. "I'll explain later."

"Sorry," Benji mumbled, then turned to Sidorov, who had just come off the phone.

"Good news. Coastguards just picked up Kostas. He tried to flee on a motor boat," the Russian said, looking at the agents in turn. "If you're alright, I got to go now. Reports and all that."

Ethan nodded. "Thanks for the help."

"My pleasure," Sidorov relied, then added with a smirk. "Until next time." He motioned to a group of his men standing nearby, and they left the IMF agents alone on the dock.

"Let's get home," Luther decided, and the other two agents nodded their agreement. He looked at Ethan still sitting on the ground. "Can you...?" he started, then swallowed the question at the last moment.

"I can walk," Ethan replied and with Luther's help pulled himself onto a pair of unsteady legs. For a moment he wondered if he had talked too big, when the world in front of his eyes started spinning out of control.

"Just not very well," he mumbled, took a deep breath and waited for the vertigo to subside. When he looked up, he decidedly ignored Benji's and Luther's worried looks. "Let's go."

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"Hey," Luther said, superfluously knocking on the door-less frame that separated this compartment of the plane from the adjacent one with a curtain. "What are you...?" He broke off, leaving the question hanging in the air.

"It's alright," Ethan answered, looking up from the computer screen. "The serum has mostly worn off and I only had one dose."

Luther nodded and stepped behind him to look over his shoulder. "Catching up on all the fun you've missed?"

"Sort of," Ethan replied. His screen showed an agent's profile, from the picture Luther recognized Agent Bray. "Have you read her file?"

"No," Luther replied and skimmed over the scarce data. "But there doesn't seem to be all that much in there anyway."

"Well, there wouldn't be," Ethan put in. "Considering that technically this was her first mission."

"Hold on. Didn't Benji say they were in field training together?" Luther asked and Ethan nodded. "And he's been through that, what, two – three years ago?"

"Yes," Ethan said. "And it looks like she's been in northern Africa since then. Over two years, the only agent left of the original mission."

"Damn," Luther muttered. "How did that happen?"

"It doesn't say," Ethan replied. "But that's not the most interesting part. There's next to nothing on her background."

"Well, first mission, straight out of field training. What do you expect?"

"According to this she's been with the IMF since 2000," Ethan pointed out. "No mention of how she was recruited, or where from, or what she did in between. And no one spends over ten years in field training."

"You know you could just ask her?"

Ethan gave him a sarcastically questioning glance and Luther smirked. "Good to have you back."


End file.
